Damn Wright (The Wrights 2)

Emma’s belly might be full, but her heart was still tied in knots. She picked up her ice water and pushed her plate toward the middle of the table. “Shitty advice, by the way.”

“I disagree. You’re absolutely glowing.”

That was true. She may not know what she looked like, she may be anxious about the fallout, but her body was still thrumming happily from her night with Dylan. Her mind veered toward the memory of his sweet nothings murmured during sex. The way he looked at her, touched her, pleasured her. Dylan Wright was still a dream lover. Too bad he was as dependable as a meth addict coming off a high.

“Sex was never our problem,” she told Maizey, “and it’s not going to solve this one either. All it did was open old wounds. Now I have to get over him all over again.”

“You wouldn’t have to if you’d give him another chance.”

“No.” Emma was shaking her head before Maizey even finished the statement. “No way. A girl can take only so much heartache.”

Maizey tipped her head and studied Emma, eyes narrowed. “I never took you for a coward. After all the years you’ve pined for him, following his career, letting your love for him ruin your relationships, I would have never believed you’d throw away the chance to be with him again.”

“I have not let my feelings for him get in the way of other relationships. And I haven’t been pining for him either. I’ve been out here, living my life.”

Maizey sputtered a yeah-right laugh. “You may as well sign up for the convent now if you’re not going to give him another shot, because pushing your feelings for him aside sure isn’t helping you make a love connection. And I’m talking about more than Liam. There was Ben, Jarred, Dalton—”

“None of those breakups had anything to do with—”

“Save it for someone who doesn’t know you like I do.” Maizey shook her head like a disappointed mother. “You do realize that sex is sex, right? I mean, I know you haven’t slept with a lot of guys, but there’s only so many ways to do it. The real pleasure comes from being crazy about the person you’re with. Emotions add spice to sex the way salt adds flavor to food. And don’t even try to tell me sex has ever been this good with Liam, because I’ve never seen you glow or heard you rave, and if you were going to do either, you would have done it by now.”

Emma opened her mouth to blast back, but her memory flooded with the feel of her body catching fire the minute Dylan touched her. The thrum of her heart when his mouth was on hers. The thrill rushing her blood when they were skin to skin. Nothing remotely the way she responded to any other man.

She was beginning to see why they’d always had such amazing sex—they’d always been head over heels in love with each other.

And now what? Now what in the hell was she going to do? If she pushed him away and blocked any chance they could try again, she was risking a life of mediocre love. If she gave in to her deepest desire, she risked her very fragile heart.

She dropped her elbows on the table and her face in her hands. “Fuck me.”

“I know just the man to take you up on that offer.”

Emma dropped her hands, half laughing, half crying. Her mother and Maizey were right. Emma had emotionally jailed herself, unwilling to take Dylan back, unable to give her heart to anyone else.

“I can’t talk about this anymore. You’re not being rational, and I’m in no condition to make a decision that big.” Emma crossed her arms and purposely changed the subject. “Vanderbilt called this morning. They want an answer.”

“And?”

“I’ll have to take it.”

“Such enthusiasm.”

“I still want to go overseas.”

“You can still do that and work at Vanderbilt.”

“For a couple weeks a year? Feels like it’s almost not worth it. I’m not doing this to make myself feel better, I’m doing it to make a difference.” Her conversation with Dylan filled her head and added doubt. “How much of a difference can I make in two weeks?”

“That’s black-and-white thinking, Em. Every person we help spreads hope. Every medical professional we teach passes the information on. What we do has a ripple effect every day, no matter where we are in the world.”

“Maybe.” But she wanted more. And by the time her contract with Vanderbilt ended, she’d be thirty-one. There was marriage and kids to consider, though both prospects looked pretty damn bleak right now. Maybe she wasn’t destined for kids or a family. Maybe she’d always been meant for the nomad lifestyle of a humanitarian aid worker.

Her phone pinged with a video message from Dylan. When she tapped into the video, she saw a slow sweep of Aunt Shelley’s kitchen with the wall between the kitchen and the living room gone.

“Wow. That was fast.” She showed Maizey. “Isn’t that fantastic?”

“Oh my God, what a difference. Who knew taking out one short wall could make it look so much bigger?”

Maizey took the phone, turned on the sound, and watched the video again.